Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Fruit doesn’t belong on pizza
SOPHIE
The first thing I notice when I walk into Micah’s penthouse isn’t the view—it’s the noise.
Grant and Wyatt are sprawled on the sectional, already bickering over whatever game’s on the TV.
Poppy’s curled up in an armchair with her laptop, earbuds dangling from one ear as she half-smiles at their ridiculous commentary.
Grant throws an arm over the back of the couch when he spots me. “Well, well. Look who finally came back from her mystery weekend getaway. You’ve got a glow, Lenny. Don’t even try to deny it.”
It’s been a few days since we’ve been back, but I haven’t seen Grant since. Of course this would be the first thing to come out of his mouth.
I roll my eyes, dropping my bag by the door. “It was just a weekend.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt says dryly, not looking up from the controller in his hands. “A weekend you came back from smiling like that.”
Of course they’d notice.
Grant grins like he’s just won the lottery. “Don’t worry, Soph. We’re proud. Really. About time someone knocked Vale off his pedestal.”
Micah, coming in from the kitchen with a glass of water, snorts. “Knocked me off my pedestal?”
He walks over to me, sliding an arm around my waist before pressing a kiss to the top of my head. The simple gesture makes my heart squeeze.
“Don’t act clueless,” Grant fires back. “Everyone knows Sophie’s the real MVP here. You’re just the arm candy.”
Everyone laughs—even Poppy, who tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and shakes her head at them. The tension in my shoulders eases. It’s ridiculous and loud, but it feels easy.
Wyatt groans when the other team scores. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Grant smirks. “Face it, they’re better.”
“Better? That was a foul!” Wyatt shoots back.
Poppy glances up from her laptop. “You two are like literal children.”
Grant immediately grabs a pillow and lobs it at her. She dodges without even looking, smirking as she keeps typing. Wyatt takes the opening and hurls a pillow at Grant, nailing him in the shoulder.
Grant jerks around, offended. “What the hell was that?”
“You don’t throw pillows at women,” Wyatt says flatly.
It’s very faint, but I swear I see Poppy blushing.
We order pizza not long after. That, of course, turns into its own battle.
“Pepperoni, sausage, and—” Wyatt starts.
“—pineapple,” Grant interrupts, grinning like he’s daring someone to fight him.
“Absolutely not,” Poppy says immediately. “Fruit doesn’t belong on pizza.”
“Thank you,” Wyatt mutters.
“Oh, please,” Grant argues. “Pineapple is elite. It’s a masterpiece.”
“Pineapple on pizza is a crime,” Poppy shoots back.
But when the pizza arrives, she still steals a slice from the pineapple box. Wyatt notices, I can tell, though he doesn’t say anything.
Grant makes a dramatic show of guarding the last piece of pepperoni. “Survival of the fittest, people.”
“Give it to Sophie,” Micah says, leaning close to me with a conspiratorial smile. “Or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Hey!” I whisper back, swatting at him, but warmth spreads through me. It’s messy and ordinary, and I can’t stop thinking how strange it is that I’ve slipped into this group like I belong here.
By the time we’re sprawled around the living room in food comas, the conversation drifts to the upcoming Evergreen Gala.
Grant stretches out with a groan. “Ah, the night Vale gets to play prince charming in a tux. We should place bets on how many society moms try to introduce him to their daughters.”
Poppy nudges me. “So did you find a dress yet?”
“I already have a dress that’s basically new, so I thought I’d just wear that,” I say, looking at Micah. It’s the black one he gave me for my birthday. It’s elegant, expensive, and I’ve only worn it once.
“I can’t wait for the gala,” Grant says with a grin. “Mostly to watch Micah drool all over you in front of important people.”
“I heard Margot Whitmore’s going to be there.” Micah says.
Grant glances up. “What? Isn’t she in California?”
“Apparently she’s transferring to Westcliffe in the spring.”
“Who’s Margot Whitmore?” I ask.
Grant smiles, but for some reason it looks forced. “Think princess-heiress. Real-life Barbie.”
“But don’t let that fool you,” Micah adds dryly. “She may look like a Barbie on the outside, but she’s an absolute menace on the inside.”
I blink. “Jeez. What’d she do to you?”
“She and Micah were like academic rivals,” Grant answers. “She beat you though, right?”
“No.” Micah is firm. “Our GPAs were exactly the same. She was just more of a teacher’s pet. That’s the only reason she was the valedictorian.”
“Oof,” Wyatt chimes in. “Now I wish I could go and see the girl who pushed Micah Vale to second place.”
“You’re not going?” I ask Wyatt quickly, sensing this is about to spiral and deciding to steer us out of dangerous territory.
“I was planning to, but I can’t. Exams.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “My dad will be there, though. You should say hi.”
My eyes widen. “Wait—you mean the Judge Lawrence Wynn? Okay, now I’m excited.” The squeal in my voice makes me wince. Definitely sounded a lot cooler in my head.
“I’m standing right here, baby,” Micah mutters. But that smile gives him away.
Eventually, Poppy stands, slipping her bag over her shoulder. “I should head out. Got studying to do.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask automatically.
She answers too quickly. “No, no. I’m sure you were going to stay here anyway.”
Before I can answer, Wyatt sets the remote aside and stands. “I should head out too. I’ll walk with Poppy.”
“Make sure she gets to her car, yeah? Should be safe enough around here, but it’s still dark,” Micah says.
“Of course,” Wyatt replies, lightly guiding Poppy toward the elevator with a hand at the small of her back. “Come on, let’s go.”
MICAH
The bathroom door clicks open, and then she’s there—fresh-faced, hair damp, swimming in one of my tees that hangs loose on her thighs.
My chest tightens. She’s not just beautiful—though God, she is—but she’s comfortable.
In short sleeves. With the scar she no longer hides from me, out in the open. She’s here, in my space, unguarded.
It knocks the air out of me.
“Sophie, you look better in my clothes than I ever could,” I say.
“You’re right. They’re calling my name.” She stretches, then lets out a low moan. “God, all your tees are so soft.”
That sound nearly undoes me. Then again, everything she does gets to me. She could be standing there wrapped in a parka and I’d still be hard.
My thoughts drift before I can stop them—imagining if this was every night.
If she lived here. If the bathroom counter was crowded with her makeup, if her clothes hung next to mine in the closet.
If I could wake up to her hair spilling across my pillow and fall asleep every night to the sound of her breathing.
If I could have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with her every single day.
The thought feels so right it almost slips out, but I swallow it down.
Too soon. I don’t want to push her, not when what we have is still new and fragile.
She walks across the room and crawls into bed beside me, and the mattress dips under her weight.
The warmth of her skin seeps into mine, and her signature rose-and-honey scent wraps around me.
My shirt hangs loose on her, slipping off one shoulder, revealing skin I’ve kissed before but will never stop wanting to kiss again.
Without makeup, she’s devastating. Softer. More herself. I don’t think she knows how beautiful she is like this—how much it undoes me.
Her gaze lingers on me, curious, and then she asks, “What are you thinking?”
So many things. Too many things. How I want her here, permanently. How she makes this penthouse feel less like a polished, empty box and more like a home.
Instead, I brush a damp strand of hair back from her cheek. “That I love seeing you here. Like this. With me. And with our friends.” My voice dips before I can stop it. “You’re the addition to the group I didn’t even know we needed. Poppy too, of course.”
Her lips curve, soft. “Well, thank you for accepting us into your circle. You guys are all amazing.” She leans her head on my shoulder like she belongs there.
“But I’m the most amazing-est. Don’t forget it, babe.” I tip my chin, pressing a kiss into her hair. “And we should be thanking you. For joining us.”
I expect her to roll those pretty eyes or slap my arm, but instead she gives me a smile—small, real, taking my breath away.
I can’t hold back. I kiss her before I lose the nerve, slow at first, savoring the taste of her, the softness of her lips.
She tastes like mint and something sweeter—like her.
She presses closer, fingers sliding under my shirt, nails skimming over my skin.
A shiver bolts down my spine, and suddenly the kiss is deeper, hungrier.
I roll us gently, bracing over her, and she laughs against my mouth before kissing me back harder, her hands fisting in my tee. My pulse is a drum, pounding everywhere at once. She looks up at me with those wide, unguarded eyes, and I can’t believe this girl is mine.
“God, Soph,” I murmur against her neck, unable to stop. The need is sharp, insistent, but so is the love. Both tangled together until I can’t tell one from the other.
She breathlessly whispers my name, and the sound almost unravels me.
I take my time, pressing slow kisses down her jaw, her throat, over the delicate curve of her shoulder. Her skin is warm beneath my lips and she shivers under my touch. She threads her fingers through my hair and tugs gently, pulling me back to her mouth, and it’s enough to undo me all over again.
Her laughter breaks between our kisses, quietly but radiantly, and it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. It’s not the polished version of her she shows the world. Not guarded, or careful—just Sophie—open and with me.
I swear I’d give her the world if she asked for it.
Clothes slip away. Every kiss, every touch feels like proof that she’s choosing me, too.
Nothing else exists but her.